Void
by Maeve Brady
Summary: Continuation of "Crichton Kicks". Happy Reunions aren’t all flowers and butterflies. (now added - Chapter Three - complete)
1. Chapter One

**Void**

-  
_Disclaimer: I lay no claims of ownership over the characters.  
__Setting: Continuation of the final scene to "Crichton Kicks".  
__Plot: Happy Reunions aren't all flowers and butterflies.  
__Author's Notes: I always thought they could've made more of that reunion angst.  
_-

"What the yotz are you doing?"

John Crichton grinned widely; despite their recent adventure, he still wasn't quite used to having other people around… least of all _these_ people. He turned away from his unfinished equations, and beamed at the frowning Dominar. However, before he had the chance to say anything, DRD 1812 chimed in with that oh-so-beautiful crescendo, and the Hynerian was momentarily forgotten as John found himself once again caught up in the glory of the moment. On Elack, there weren't many beautiful moments, but this particular one never ceased to get him right in the heart. Rygel and his cynicism would just have to wait.

And, surprisingly, he did. It wasn't characteristic of him to be patient, but his time away seemed to have given him a little insight into the world of waiting for things, and he sat regally in his throne-sled, a bemused frown upon his face as he watched the crazed Human prance around the room as if possessed. When the stunning crescendo finally tinkled to a halt, he held up a hand to silence the DRD. "That's great, dude. Take five." He couldn't keep from grinning as 1812 chirped obediently and rolled away. Thus satisfied, Crichton turned finally towards the Dominar. "Rygel, man. How's it hangin'?"

Rygel did not look amused. "What are you _doing_?" he repeated sullenly.

"Doing?" Crichton replied, raising an eyebrow.

The Hynerian sighed wearily and gestured at the wall, which was – as it had been for as long as John could remember – covered in scribbles and fractional equation pieces. "Doing," he said, that same sullen tone never leaving his voice. Crichton didn't understand why the little slug was so pissed all of a sudden; they were back in each other's company, weren't they? What more did the runt want?

"Wormholes, man!" he said happily. "Wormholes."

Rygel sighed again, heavily. "I thought you said you'd figured all that out!" he said, that same mild irritation still rife in his voice. "You need a new hobby, Crichton." The moodiness abated for a moment, but there remained something unfathomably negative in the slug's posture, and the Human found himself considerably unnerved by it. Annoying as he was, the slug seldom feigned seriousness. Impatient, yes. Greedy, hell yeah. A royal pain in the frelling ass, sure. But not _serious_. Never serious. Something was amiss.

"What's the matter, Guido?"

The Hynerian smiled. It was a sad, almost tragic sort of smile, but at the same time, the smile of someone who had finally heard what he wanted to hear. "About time you thought to ask," he said quietly, and Crichton finally understood. What with all the Klingon craziness, they hadn't had much time for catching up, and he supposed Rygel was feeling a bit put out by the fact that John had chosen wormhole equations over him. He supposed it was an understandable annoyance, but also rather silly. He laughed.

"I'm sorry, Sparky," he said, and he meant it. "It's just… it's wormholes, man. You know. _Wormholes_." He bit back another explosive laugh. "Wormholes!"

Rygel was looking pensive again. "Is that all you've been doing?" he asked. "Since we all went our separate ways… is that all you've been doing? Playing with your _wormholes_?"

There was an almost dangerous intensity in his eyes. Crichton felt a hint of concern rise in his gut. Chiana had filled him in on the barest minimal of what'd happened to the pair of them since leaving Moya, but she'd been violently resistant to his attempts to glean anything further from her. And she'd mentioned torture. John was very, very worried about her… but she was Chiana, and if there was one thing she hated, it was people paying undue attention to her suffering. So he'd left her alone, and she'd made no move to come to him. It had never occurred to him that there might have been another sufferer as well.

"Buckwheat?" he asked softly.

Rygel was looking up at him, uncharacteristically quiet. For a long time, he didn't say anything at all, and when he finally spoke, it was in the barest of whispers. "It's not easy, Crichton," he murmured. "Out there… it's never easy. You… all alone in here with your wormholes and your stupid tuneless Erp-Music… _you_ have it easy." He looked down, and refused to meet the Human's eyes for a long time.

Crichton didn't know what to say. He'd never seen what he was doing as 'easy'. Hell, more often than not, it was nothing short of painful. Even the most basic, fundamental parts of the knowledge had been agonising to extract, and several times during his stay, Elack's pilot had found him unconscious from the migraines brought about by trying to unlock it. No… of all the words he'd've used to describe his 'frelling' wormholes, _'easy'_ had never been one of them.

But was it easier than whatever Rygel and Chiana had been through? Probably. Almost definitely. What could he say? He couldn't tell the Hynerian that he was right; he'd never hear the end of it. But the fact of the matter was, he was. The pretentious, arrogant little slug was right. Here on Elack, alone with his wormholes and his migraines and his 1812, he had been happy. With the exception of Aeryn's brief intrusions into his mind, he'd been at peace. He'd found a home here. Solitary, lonely… peaceful. He'd liked it here. And then _they_ had shown up, and everything was dark and cold and confusing again.

It was a confusion that was far worse than the wormholes, because there was no hidden knowledge locked away in his brain. The only knowledge was out of his reach, hidden away in the traumatised recess of Rygel's mind, and in Chiana's. It was a confusion of which Crichton was not a part, and the look on the Hynerian's sad face suggested that he never would be. How could he be? Chiana wouldn't talk to him, and all Rygel had to say was that he didn't understand.

"Newsflash, Guido," he said, more harshly than he'd intended. "Don'tcha think I know that?"

"No," said Rygel, deadly serious. "I don't think you do."

Before he knew what he was doing, Crichton had lunged at him, holding him firmly by the throat against the wormhole-smeared wall. "Then _tell_ me, Buckwheat!" he snarled. It was a mistake, he knew. As well as these violent tactics worked against the numb Nebari, they weren't the right methods to use against the cool Dominar, and they both knew it. Still, John's hands remained at Rygel's throat, their eyes locked in a bitter stalemate for several microts. "Tell me what I don't know. Tell me what I don't understand…" He paused, feeling his voice begin to crack. Why did they have to come back? Couldn't they have left him here? Couldn't they have let him be happy? "Tell me why Chiana won't talk to me. _Tell me why you can't smile_."

Rygel's hands covered the Human's. It wasn't a gesture of protest against the man's mistreatment, but one of empathy… of understanding that John needed to vent this frustration, this lack of comprehension. They both knew as well as each other that he could never know, could never understand… and they both wished, each as fervently as the other that, just for a moment, he could.

"Things have changed, Crichton," the Dominar said, and his voice was cold as ice, "and you can't change them back." Something in the power behind this sentence drove John's mind back to Aeryn. Rygel had no idea how right he was. He wasn't talking about that, of course, but it still rang true. And he was right about the here-and-now too. _'Nothing new'_, Chiana had said. She'd known then – and he knew now – that it was a lie… and it hurt him deeply to know that she'd felt that need to deceive him. Though it wasn't the lie that hurt. She lied all the time, and she did it well. But not to him. She never lied to _him_.

And then Rygel. He'd never even thought to ask after the Hynerian. He'd seen the bruises, but hadn't thought to ask about them. Because it was Rygel. Dominar Rygel the Sixteenth. Rygel, who'd been to hell and back long before he'd met John Crichton, and who therefore must've experienced everything the Universe could throw at him. Except that he hadn't. And Crichton hadn't thought to ask. His friends were drowning in front of him, and he hadn't thought to ask. He and his frelling wormholes.

He'd put it right, though. No more ignorance from this little trooper. "What happened, Sparky?" Half of him was afraid of what the answer might be, while the other knew he had to find out.

Rygel looked him square in the face. "Ask _her_."

"She – won't – _talk_ – to – me!" he enunciated.

"Then _wait_." The Dominar was looking pensive again, and also slightly angry. John supposed he understood the sentiment, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. When did things stop being so… easy? "By the Gods, Crichton," Rygel went on, shaking his head in a combination of frustration and empathy, "show a little patience. We've waited long enough for _you_."

Crichton smiled, a little wryly. "I'm not good at waiting," he confessed. "Not when I know my friends are in pain and won't tell me why."

"If I can," the Hynerian replied sadly, "you can."

-  
_Endnote: I really can't figure out whether to continue this or not.  
__Any suggestions in the positive or negative would be appreciated.  
_-


	2. Chapter Two

**Void**

-  
_Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter asking me to continue.  
Disclaimers (etc) in Part One._  
-

He found her in Pilot's den. The ancient pilot was dozing lightly, as she had a tendency to do when things got quiet, and Chiana was crouched quietly beneath the great console. The girl was visibly trembling, shadows playing across her face and obscuring her features. Even from this distance, she looked fragile, and Crichton felt his heart rate accelerate a few notches. He'd been trying to convince himself that Rygel was simply trying to worry him; it was just like the slug to make him panic over nothing. But all hopes of that outcome were cast aside the instant he lay eyes on the Nebari's shadow-shrouded form.

She looked very small, huddled there. Of course, she'd never been _big_, but she'd always made up for it with her larger-than-life attitude. But now, even that was gone, and her entire frame seemed deflated. Crichton longed to give her the hug that she clearly needed, but he knew better than to try it. The soft-and-sympathetic approach simply didn't work on Chi.

"Hey, little girl," he said softly. She hadn't noticed his approach and flinched sharply at the obtrusive sound of his voice. If it'd been possible, he was sure she would've shrank further back against the wall of the massive console, but as it was, she was already as far back as she could get without becoming part of the wall. It took her a couple of microts to recognise him, and when she did, her features relaxed slightly. Not much, but just enough to allow John the invitation he needed to inch his way further towards her. "Is this seat taken?" he asked casually, gesturing at the empty space on the floor beside her.

She didn't reply, merely continued to watch him as he hopped from one foot to the other. She kinda reminded him of a mouse, trying to figure out which angle the cat was planning to pounce from. "Okay," he said after a couple of microts. "I'll take that as a 'no'." And, so saying, he promptly slid down beside her, coming to rest in a not-so-comfortable sitting position. "Yeah, I can see why you like it down here," he went on, deadpan. "The view's amazing." Still no answer. He sighed and discarded his feint at optimism. "Chi…" The word was barely a whisper. "C'mon, baby. Let it out…"

All the time he'd been speaking, her eyes had remained fixed on him. Dry and empty... not even the faintest trace of emotion. They weren't Chiana's eyes. Chiana had warm eyes. Laughing eyes. Passionate eyes. The eyes that watched him now were cold and lifeless. Void. Their emptiness worried him, probably more than any words she could have said. It was as if he was looking at her corpse.

"Nothin' to let out." Her voice too was a void. "Leave me alone." Eyes and mouth worked in unison to present that gut-wrenching air of deadness.

The emptiness tugged on his heart. She had always been so vibrant. Colourless on the outside, sure… but on the inside, vibrant. Alive with colours that were too rich to be seen. But not now. Now, she was empty. Frozen by too deep a chill. Crichton wanted nothing more than to shelter her from that, but he knew he could it. It was too deep, too powerful. Too consuming. He knew better than anyone how dangerous that inner chill was… how destructive. Hadn't he fought enough of those icy demons himself?

"Chiana…" he said, very softly.

And, in an explosion, the void was gone, filled once again with the fire of that too-familiar passion. Her eyes were wild as she whirled to face him, hands clenched into tight fists in front of her face. "Leave me _alone_!" It was a desperate scream, and it ripped from her with a violence that stole Crichton's breath. He was used to her eccentric defence mechanisms by now, and had long-suffering experience of her tendency to reject – sometimes forcefully – any attempts at compassion. But this was a different kind of force. This was a force borne of sheer terror, and he had no idea how to combat it.

He moved to calm her, realising his mistake a microt too late as the gesture was met with further violence. Her fist, flailing blindly, caught the side of his face. Dazed, he had no time to respond as she lashed out again, and the breath exploded out of him as she punched him in the stomach. Her eyes were unseeing as she lashed out again; he didn't think she even knew who he was, and the blindness in her eyes – not the vision-induced blindness he'd witnessed earlier… a far less literal, but far more terrifying kind of blindness – worried him to his very soul. It was as if he were looking at someone else.

"Chiana," he repeated, catching her fists and holding them tightly in the vain hope that she'd stop fighting him for long enough to have a rational conversation. But she didn't. Despite the fact that she was being held fast by the less aggressive but considerably stronger Human, she continued to struggle against him. "Chiana," he said again. "Chiana. Shh. Calm down. _Calm_. _Down_."

His words only served to heighten her agitation, and her violent flailing became more intense. Breaking free from his gentle restraint, she lashed out again, fists flying in fervent fury, until Crichton had no choice but to back away or risk one hell of a shiner. She didn't follow him as he stumbled to his feet and glare down at her, instead shifting expression yet again. The fear was back in full force now, and her head was tilted to one side in anticipation of retaliation. Despite his annoyance at having been used as a punching-bag, Crichton felt his heart go out to her. She looked – and the very word sickened him – pathetic.

"I talked to Rygel," he blurted out.

She flinched, eyes meeting his. Slowly, the terror melted away, replaced with a suspicion that remained laced with fearful anxiety. For several microts, she didn't say anything; he supposed she was waiting for him to go on of his own volition. But Crichton knew better than that. She needed to talk, and he knew that, as long as _he_ was talking, she would keep quiet. After a few moments, wherein she clearly seemed to realise that he wasn't about to say any more, she sighed and opened her mouth. "What'd he say…?"

He shrugged. "Told me to ask you."

"Yeah?" A small grin touched her face, void of mirth. "Well, I'm tellin' you to ask _him_." The voice was tough, but her eyes were pleading. She wasn't telling him. She was begging him.

Crichton shook his head, meeting her grin with one of his own. Like hers, it was a smile of resolve sadness, and lacking in cheer. "No can do, kiddo…" he retorted. "Seems to me that Buckwheat's issues are second to the ones right here." He stepped backwards, just in case she didn't like that and decided to attack again, but she didn't. In fact, she looked rather thoughtful.

"Don't be so sure," she said eventually. "S-sometimes it's not… it's not what you do…"

He frowned. "Chi. Talk to me. What happened?"

For a second, it looked like she was going to tell him. Her face contorted with conflict and her eyes blazed desperately with an almost tangible desire to talk. But her repressive personality overpowered the moment, and she twitched angrily. "N… talk to _Rygel_. Ask him. He knows better."

Crichton shrugged off the point with flawless indifference. "Maybe he does. But he seems to think that it's your place to tell me." He watched her steadily. "So tell me."

"He d… didn't do anything wrong." She laughed bitterly. "_He_ didn't do anything wrong." The smile was back in place, but it was edged with mania; Crichton stepped back a little further – the distance was killing him, but the look on her face seemed to imply another impending bout of violence. "You can't…" she went on, stumbling over the words, "you… you can't punish someone who hasn't done anything wrong."

Silence. Crichton didn't push her, letting her work through the maelstrom of thoughts on her own. It pained him that he couldn't hold her or touch her or comfort her without risking another explosion. Maybe he should've let her hit him. Maybe if she'd beaten him into a bloody pulp, she wouldn't be so frightened. Maybe she would've been able to talk to him if he'd been unconscious at her feet.

"They couldn't do an– anything to him," she explained. "Couldn't punish him. They knew… knew he was part of it… but he didn't _do_ anything. He was just… j… just there. And you're… they're not allowed to punish you if you didn't actually _do_ anything." Her face was staring fixedly at the ground.

Crichton was frowning again. "So what's the problem?"

Her head snapped up; she seemed to have forgotten he was there. "Problem?" she repeated hollowly, looking up at him with unfathomable eyes. "They… they made sure that he _wouldn't_ do anything wrong. They s… they… show… showed him. Showed him what they'd do to him if he ever _did_."

The revelation had taken a lot out of her, and she was shaking hard as she broke off eye-contact with him and buried her face in her knees. For his own part, Crichton felt sick. Chiana was an expert in telling him what had happened without actually _telling_ him, and this was no exception. "I see," he said quietly. And then, because he needed to hear the words, "They made him watch?"

No answer. He doubted she could have spoken if she'd wanted to. A low, pained whine could be heard; she was crying. Crying for herself, crying for Rygel… and crying for Crichton because he could never understand. They both knew that. He would never know what they'd done to her, because she would never be able to tell him. It was a rift between them. A rift in trust, a rift in empathy, a rift in all the things that had made their friendship so beautiful. A rift that neither of them would be able to cross.

The rift was Rygel.

-  
_To Be Continued… (definitely, this time!)  
__Thanks to those of you who told me to continue.  
__Opinions/suggestions always welcome.  
_-


	3. Chapter Three

**Void**

-  
_Thanks again to those of you who took the time to review.  
Disclaimers (etc) in Part One. _  
-

He left her alone after that. Not through choice, of course, but he knew better than to try and comfort her. And besides, it seemed that she wasn't the only one in need of comforting. A low sigh coursed through Crichton's chest, and there was nothing he could do to quell it.

_When did things get so screwed up?_ he wondered silently. He didn't mind so much when the mental trauma was his own. He was used to that. He'd been suffering for so long that he almost couldn't remember what it felt like to not be suffering. Between Scorpius and Harvey, his mind hadn't gotten a moment's peace in as long as he could remember, and in the seeming lifetime since he'd met Aeryn, his heart had been crushed and broken more times than he could count. No sir, John Crichton was no stranger to suffering. But this…this was something completely different. This was a whole new level of suffering, and it was one that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never touch.

Chiana was broken. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. For as long as he'd known her, she'd been strong. Miss Junior Tough Chick of the Universe. It was a title he'd given in jest within a few days of her arrival, and through the cycles that had followed, she'd earned it. But now, it was as if those cycles had never existed. Deep down inside, Crichton knew why. He knew what had happened to her down on those casinos, and he knew what she'd meant when she'd said "torture". But he couldn't bring himself to believe it… couldn't bring himself to say it. The word resonated throughout his head, but he couldn't voice it.

And the whole time, Rygel knew. Not in the subtle roundabout way that John knew. He knew first-hand. Or, worse, second-hand. He'd seen it. In vivid, violent, vibrant Technicolor, he'd seen it. And he'd known. All the while Crichton had been welcoming them back with smiles and shaving, he'd known. The frelling Hynerian bastard had known, and he hadn't even thought to tip-off the Human that something might be wrong. But then, was that the reason Crichton was so angry? No. When it all came down to it, he wasn't angry at Rygel. He was angry _because_ of Rygel. Angry that he now had to take the Hynerian's feelings into consideration. Angry that the self-centred Dominar _had_ feelings.

"Rygel!" he howled, rounding one of Elack's oversized corridors with fervent intensity. "Rygel! Get your little slug-shaped ass out here _now_!" His voice was fake to his own ears. As desperately as he tried to inject a hint of his roiling emotions into his voice, he couldn't. Maybe it wasn't anger after all…

The irritating whir of a too-familiar throne-sled preceded the Dominar's arrival. Crichton felt a low growl form in his throat; knowing the Hynerian bastard, he'd been hiding nearby the whole time, waiting patiently for John to finish his little heart-to-heart with Chiana.

"What is it, Crichton?" he demanded. The feint at innocence fell flat on its face the instant John caught sight of his eyes. So often cruel, so often power-hungry… now they, like Chiana's, were a void. Emotionless. Dead. He knew that John knew. That was why he'd sent him to Chiana. Some small part of the Hynerian's questionable heart wanted Crichton to know so that he could show him that void. There was an intimacy in the emptiness. A sense of trust, of companionship. Rygel trusted Crichton to see behind the self-centred Dominar… to bear witness to the broken shell of existence that now resided within.

"I talked to Chiana," John said flatly.

Rygel nodded sadly. "I knew you would." A soft noise escaped his lips; if Crichton hadn't known better, he'd've sworn the Hynerian was struggling to keep from crying.

"They made you watch," Crichton went on. It wasn't a question as it had been with Chiana. Her lack of reply had been answer enough to that question. It was a fact. A tragic fact, but a fact nonetheless. There was no need to waste time confirming fact – not when they both knew it was true – and Rygel didn't even grace the Human with an accommodating nod. Crichton appreciated this bid at empathy, and pressed on. "You're gonna tell me, Sparky," he said, and the forceful resolve in his voice shocked even himself. "You're gonna tell me exactly _what_ they made you watch… what they did to her."

For almost the first time in as long as he'd known the slug, Rygel looked genuinely afraid. Not of a physical enemy, but of the demons inside himself. Crichton hardened his face. He needed to understand. He _needed_ to understand. Surely Rygel would understand that. Surely the slug wasn't so blind as to—

"No." The word was like ice. "I'm not."

There was a steeliness to the Hynerian's eyes, now. Still void and lifeless, but resolve… more so, if possible, than John's. "Buckwheat…" he began, but the sentence died unspoken.

"No, Crichton," Rygel replied. "This is something you can't help with. I could spend _cycles_ telling you what they did, and you'll still be no closer to understanding." A tortured world of unspoken heartache hung suspended on the air, crystalline. Crichton fought the urge to reach for it. "The more you push," Rygel went on, "the more damage you do. To all of us."

John had no answer to that. The pain of not knowing seared through his heart like a knife. Nothing Scorpius had done to him had ever hurt like this. This was a pain that no tourniquet could heal.

"I wanna understand," he whispered, plaintive.

"No," Rygel repeated, emphatically. "You don't."

Then, suddenly oblivious to the Human's presence, the soulless and hard-hearted Hynerian, Dominar Rygel the Sixteenth lowered his face and wept.

-  
**Fin**  
-  
_Endnote: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and offered suggestions;  
__I do have a sequel in the pipeline, inspired by one reviewer's suggestion of a post-WWL piece,  
__and any other thoughts/comments are, as always, more than welcome._


End file.
